


Laundry Day

by ulmo80



Series: Grey Tales [10]
Category: My Crazy Ramblings
Genre: Dark Humor, Established Relationship, F/M, Married Life, OCD, Obsessive-Compulsive, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-28
Updated: 2020-01-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:02:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22450783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ulmo80/pseuds/ulmo80
Summary: Aaron Harper was quite scrupulous with order. Everything should be in place, disposed so that he didn’t have to turn on the light to find them even on a moonless night. He knew the exact position of anything that was in his house, office, and car. Anyway, any place where he had some kind of influence was inventoried in his mind.
Series: Grey Tales [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1264802
Comments: 3





	Laundry Day

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Día de Lavado](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20426408) by [ulmo80](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ulmo80/pseuds/ulmo80). 



> This is a translation, it is not beta-read. English is not my first language. All mistakes are mine.

Aaron Harper was quite scrupulous with order. Everything should be in place, disposed so that he didn’t have to turn on the light to find them even on a moonless night. He knew the exact position of anything that was in his house, office, and car. Anyway, any place where he had some kind of influence was inventoried in his mind.

He had acquired that attitude about life since his childhood. As expected, this always carried him with difficulties, even at a very young age. It was strange the day in which he hadn’t problems at school for he used to rile his classmates due to his peculiarities. If to his difficulties to make friends it’s added adolescence, you can figure out how bad it was for him. I leave his time at the university to your imagination.

Given these precedents, when just graduated he started a relationship with Michelle Rhodes –who was defined with one word: hippie– and married her in less than a year, his relatives and acquaintances couldn’t be more astonished. 

Michelle’s happy and carefree nature helped her to tolerate her husband’s eccentricities. For example, she had tried to add colorful touches to their home, but Aaron’s obsessive and monochromatic order prevailed. To achieve a balance on this particular issue, after lengthy discussions and negotiations, they defined “free spirit zones,” where he wouldn’t “get his paws into” –namely: her half of the dressing room, the attic where she carried out her artistic projects, back of the living-room, garden. In time, coexistence took both to a middle ground where they were in harmony, satisfied and happy, despite their differences.

However, a singular circumstance appeared from day one, for which Michelle was forced to show a lot of patience because Aaron didn’t give up: laundry day.

The issue started with the dirty laundry. In normal households, there is one basket where it is placed all. Nonetheless, at the Harper-Rhodes' family home, there was one for every type: small clothes –underpants, brassieres, socks, ties, panties–, medium size –shirts, blouses, t-shirts, tank tops, skirts, pajamas–, large size –pants, sweaters, dresses, jackets–, for the bedding –sheets, bedspreads, covers– and bath clothes –every type of towels–, for the kitchen ones –tablecloths, tea towels, tablecloths, oven mitts. Aaron had arranged baskets for every type of clothing, by size and use –more divisions than their recycling system, an activity practiced by both parties with enthusiasm.

At the hour of washing, Aaron didn’t limit himself to distributing the clothes according to color, he placed it inside the device in a specific order: the largest on the bottom, then the medium, and lastly the smallest. He also distributed them according to their use, it would never occur to him to wash clothing next to a towel and, much less, a sheet with some mats. He applied the same rule when getting them into the dryer. For this reason, the couple had reached a tacit arrangement: in laundry day, generally on Saturdays, Aaron would take charge, and Michelle, who was exasperated by the process, would get out the house to come back two to three hours later, to avoid useless discussions about something as simple as laundry –she preferred to step aside and give her husband space to drain his mania.

* * *

On a typical laundry day, after breakfasting and just before Aaron got down to work, Michelle went out as usual.

First, she went to the market to buy the missing ingredients of a recipe, simple and very good looking, she had found online. Then she met a dear friend who had long without seeing –they dedicated themselves to putting the gossip up to date, accompanied by green juices and whole-grain cookies.

While returning home, about three hours later, she imagined her husband in the phase of returning things to their place –maybe she would reach out to lend a hand.

However, the scene found was far from expected. The beloved personal paradise she had left not so long ago seemed like a war zone. She couldn't give credit to how much his eyes saw: the cushions were on the floor, the coffee table and the dining chairs were tumbled, the armchairs were unarmed, ornaments scattered in any way.

“Aaron! Aaron” Honey, where are you?” she shouted as she moved slowly, fearful for the fate of her husband. She had forgotten the shopping bags, and when she dropped them, the crash produced by a confiture jar when it broke startled her.

She listened again and heard a murmur from the back of the house, coming from her husband's study. Then she ran into the prevailing chaos, at the risk of stumbling and falling. It seemed like a hurricane had unleashed its fury in their home.

She wanted, and at the same time not, to get to the origin of the sound –fear had stuck its fangs in her. However, her imagination did not prepare her enough for what she found. Her heart skipped a beat as soon as she stepped on the threshold, but it was not because of the scattered books, or the contents of the desk drawers on its surface, or the fallen paper bin and its content spread out, much less for the lithographs, chosen and framed with such care by Aaron, crooked on the walls. None of that scared her as much as her husband, who was laying on the floor in a fetal position, surrounded by the unusual disorder, rocking himself and babbling something she couldn’t understand at first.

“Good heavens, love! Are you alright? What happened? Do you need a doctor? Do I call an ambulance?”

“I can’t find it, I can’t find it, I can’t find it…” Aaron repeated over and over again, without stop rocking.

She entered the room, avoiding stepping on the books. She opened some space by pushing office supplies with her feet and knelt by his side. Then she helped him to sit up and cradled him in her arms.

“Easy, easy. I’m already here.” Michelle gathered courage not to burst into tears. Her husband's condition puzzled her, she had never seen him so helpless.

“I can’t find it, I can’t find it…” Aaron still repeated. The voice sounded muffled against his wife’s chest.

“What can’t you find?”

“I can’t find it, I can’t find it...”

“Now, calm down. Everything is fine. What can’t you find, honey?”

“The sock, I can’t find it, I can’t find it, I can’t find it…”

Gradually, as she began to make sense of the words, anguish gave way to disbelief –frustration and anger remained on the bench, making bets on which one would have the next turn.

Michelle stifled a sob, broke the hug, and held her husband by the shoulders.

“A sock? You’re telling me this is because of a sock?” she asked in a whisper.

“I just can't find it.” Aaron raised his gaze. His exorbitant, pleading eyes, sought those of his wife; but they did not find the desired understanding.

“It wasn’t a burglar.” Michelle didn’t ask, she was establishing a fact. Aaron shook his head. Then she huffed and dropped her arms down. She took a look at the nonsense that surrounded her and added, looking back at her husband: “I should’ve listened to my mother. You’re insane.” She stood up and left the room.

* * *

Aaron had returned to his senses thanks, in a great measure, to his wife’s last gaze. When he got up, his bones protested because of the awkward posture in which he had remained –he took a mental note: " _I must start an exercise routine_."

He heard footsteps coming from the master room, located on the top floor above the study, accompanied by the noise of something heavy when falling, hooks being run in the dressing room and drawers being open and slammed shut.

When Michelle returned five minutes later, suitcase in hand and bag hanging on her shoulder, she found him arranging the books on the shelf.

Before he could tell her how ashamed he was of his behavior, she spoke:

“Since last week, Louisa has taken her little monster to the shop and the only way to keep him peaceful is this,” she tossed a bundle of cloth, the size of a tennis ball, into his hands. “I’m going to my sister’s. Call me when you’re sane again.”

Firm footsteps and the bang of the door was the last Aaron heard from his wife.

Then he examined the bundle. It was a typical sock puppet: it had buttons for eyes, an oval piece of red felt as mouth, plus black yarn whiskers.

After a couple of minutes of observing the toy, Aaron went to the laundry room and put it in a washing machine next to its pair, over the rest of the clothes, already accommodated. He then added detergent and softener to their respective receptors and started the wash cycle.


End file.
